


Fly Dive!

by ryukoishida



Series: Attack the Crowd [4]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, even more cheerleading AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8506774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: Due to a schedule conflict with another sports club, Pars University’s all men cheerleading club is forced to do their morning practice outdoors. It doesn’t last long.





	

“Well, I suppose this will do for now,” Daryun announces with a resigned sigh and drops his backpack forlornly by the base of a tree before turning to their captain with an accusing glare. “Since someone whom we shall not name for the sake of courtesy made a scheduling mistake.”

Said captain, all brilliant turquoise eyes and heart-stopping charms, actually has the decency to grin sheepishly this time and acknowledges his own shortcoming for once, “I’m only human, you know? You can’t expect me to be perfect all the time, although for you, my darling, I’d certainly try.” 

He’s winking at Daryun, who stalks right past him without batting an eye and starts stretching at a spot where he would not risk hitting a tree or a person. 

“You just never learn, do you?” Isfan, vice-captain of the cheerleading squad and Gieve’s best friend, murmurs while rolling his eyes; Gieve’s pathetic attempt to flirt with the tall and at times imposing Daryun tends to make him do that. 

“Failure is the mother of success, Isfan,” Gieve calls out after him. “It’s precisely due to your defeatist attitude that you’re still single.”

“I don’t need to hear this from you,” Isfan replies calmly as he starts doing his warm-up stretches as well; he doesn’t seem too bothered by Gieve’s jab, either because he’s already gotten too used to it, or he simply doesn’t give a damn. “Come on, you two. Let’s practice the Elevator stunt after warming up.” 

Elam and Arslan, the two youngest members of the squad who have been watching and giggling quietly at the exchange between their captain and their team’s strongest base, nod simultaneously without comment, and they jog over to where their upperclassmen are.

The autumn sunlight of early morning filters through the gold and red foliage above them, and the air is crisp and smells of remnants of rain laced with the smoky scent of dry leaves beneath their feet. The sweltering heat of summer has long gone, and what comes after it is a scenery not unlike that of an oil-painting splattered with vibrant, changing hues of beech and oak trees that lined the streets of the school campus, which is peacefully quiet at this time of day except for the occasional jogger who cross their paths. 

The five squad members are quietly doing their stretching exercises, and for about ten blissful minutes, they just enjoy the almost-silence of the brisk, morning air as they pull and loosen up their limbs to prepare their bodies for more complicated and physically-demanding movements. 

Arslan has only been practicing tumbling over the last few weeks in order to perform the choreography for the school festival last week, and while under careful supervision of Isfan who’s known for his impeccable tumbling skills, he’s gotten surprisingly good at doing round-off backhand-spring series. A few days ago, he’s been trying to add a back tuck in the end of the series, but his landings have been shaky at best. 

Today is his first time practicing the Elevator stunt, which involves a group of four: one flyer, two bases, and a spotter. Since Isfan has messaged everyone in the chat group that their morning group practice has been cancelled due to the forgetful nature of their captain – though he still reminds them to practice individually (somebody has to be the responsible one around here, Isfan figures) – Gieve is acting as the spotter in the meantime. 

“Remember to do each step on the count,” Gieve reminds him in a cheerful tone while tightening his grip on Arslan’s waist from behind. “Ready?”

Arslan nods. 

He couldn’t maintain his extension the first few times and toppled over; he was caught safely by the three members stationed at the bottom, but the swiftness of losing his balance and the sensation of falling had knocked the breath out of him too many times, causing his heart to race fiercely against his ribs until breathing becomes a little difficult.

However, when Daryun suggests a break with a worried frown etched along his brows, Arslan kindly but firmly declines. If they were to place well in the regional championship, he knows that the sooner he gets the stunts right, the easier it’ll be for the rest of his teammates. 

On the other hand, Elam, who has already mastered the techniques required for the Elevator since he had performed it during the school festival, is quietly practicing the dance choreography on his own, but once in a while, he’ll glance over at the small group, his focus solely concentrating on the silver-haired young man who shares the same German language class as him this semester.

There are many things to be said about the first-year business student, Elam’s teeth gnaw at his bottom lip in deep thought, but one thing is certain: Arslan is not a fast-learner – academics or athletics-wise – but what draws Elam’s attention is the man’s determination to improve, to prove his worth to his family who’s opposed to him joining the cheerleading club from the start, to not let his teammates down. 

A week into joining the cheerleading club, Elam finds out about the stormy relationship between Arslan and his father. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he had never heard the usually polite and quiet-spoken Arslan speaking with such raw frustration, voice torn and low and the frustrated tears that refused to come out as he talked to his father over his cell phone while leaning – almost digging – his shoulder against the wall for support. 

Elam had waited outside of the gymnasium for a good ten minutes before he dared to venture in, and by then, all traces of Arslan’s anger – the unshed tears, the shuddering fists, the strange, animalistic growl in his voice – had vanished. He merely looked up and greeted him with his usual gentle smile and a soft “good morning”. 

“Here,” Elam plops down beside his classmate, one hand offering a bottle of sports drink without turning to look at the other man. 

“Thanks,” Arslan murmurs gratefully, taking the bottle from him, their fingers lightly brushing against each other’s in the most careless innocent of ways that still somehow leave a trail of warmth on Elam’s skin. 

The grass is dry and brittle, and it scratches Elam’s palms when he leans back with his arms, head tilted up to stare through the thinning foliage of blood red and aging yellow.

Arslan twists the cap off carefully and takes a sip, eyes fluttering close as he lets the cool liquid sooth his parched throat, and silver lashes gleam enticingly like twin crescent moons as they catch the sunlight at just the right angle. 

He pulls off his hair-tie and let his hair flow down freely in silver waves just past his shoulders; the tips are moist with sweat.

“How are you doing with the stunt?”

“I was able to pull it off a couple of times, so I guess I’ve gotten a little better,” Arslan sighs, eyes gazing somewhere ahead and distant and his bottom lip still touching the rim of the bottle so that when he exhales, the bottle whistles back with the same melancholy. 

“But not good enough?” 

“I’m slowing everyone down,” Arslan pulls his knees up, wraps his arms around his legs, and hides his face there, where his next words are trapped and muffled. “I’m not good at this. I shouldn’t––”

He feels gentle fingers resting atop his head, and whatever is about to come out of his mouth is stuck at the back of his throat; his body freezes at the unexpected contact for a short second before he slackens his shoulder blades and leans into the touch.

“Hey, it’s going to be fine…” Elam’s voice softens, mild and lulling like spring rain thudding against glass as he runs his fingers lightly through Arslan’s starlight hair, and it’s a tone that Arslan has seldom heard from the usually aloof man. Elam glances over at him, jade green eyes warm and lacking the usual calm rationality. “Don’t rush or push your body too hard or you’ll just end up injuring yourself.”

Arslan nods into his knees, and Elam can’t help but chuckle at the incredibly child-like gesture. Despite being a year younger, Elam feels that Arslan is the one who needs someone to always be by his side and protect him. It’s a strange notion, and Elam doesn’t dwell on it for too long, but it’s somehow kind of endearing, and Elam finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. 

“Gieve, what the he––!” Daryun is yelling from a few paces away, his eyes widening and arms flailing in a delayed attempt to warn the younger students about the oncoming disaster that’s approaching them.

But he’s too late. 

To no one’s surprise, the first to break the serenity of the moment is their oh-so-responsible captain, as he unceremoniously dumps a huge pile of dry leaves over Arslan and Elam’s heads. With a helpless screech, the two youngsters can only bring their arms up to block out the worst of the onslaught but their hair and clothes have all been effectively covered with leaves.

From a few feet away, they look like some strange, mummy-like creatures stunned to the ground, a thick sheet of red, orange, and yellow having half buried them. When they manage to drag themselves out of the crumbly mess, Arslan delicately picks out some stubborn leaves that have been stuck to Elam’s brown, tousled locks. 

The pink tint on Elam’s cheeks does not go unnoticed by Arslan, but he merely bites back a smile and say nothing. 

“What the hell were you trying to do? You have ruined a perfectly good and sweet moment between Elam and Young Master Arslan!” Daryun stalks up to Gieve in wide, threatening strides, his eyes glowing wild gold. 

The captain has escaped behind a grove of oak trees, but somehow Daryun has located him anyway.

“I-I just thought Arslan needs some cheering up,” Gieve protests, and he has to back up three steps to counter Daryun’s one step forward. “You’ve seen how upset he looked, right?”

When Gieve is crowded up against a tree and he has nowhere else to escape, Daryun finally seems satisfied with this progression of events. His lips are set into a smirk – an expression that Gieve has learned to avoid, not because it doesn’t look good on him (oh it looks way too good on him, Gieve complains half-heartedly) but because he knows it’s a sure sign that something sinister is about to happen to whoever Daryun happens to aim this specific expression at.

And right now, Daryun is smirking at him.

In the distance, Arslan, Elam, and Isfan can clearly hear Gieve’s tormented yelps as Daryun chases after him with a pile of leaves in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I. I don’t even know what this trash is. I’m sorry.


End file.
